


The End

by HyperKid



Series: Peanut Butter Murder Time [2]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Body Horror, Full list in comment, I am only here to hurt you, Multi, Nonverbal Character, Other, Shock, TW: Suicide, TW: Violence, Trent Murder Fic, many soft snugs, mentions of child abuse, poor poor Caleb, the final breakdown, tw: dissociation, tw: suicidal ideation, tw:gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-18 03:35:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21771094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HyperKid/pseuds/HyperKid
Summary: It’s the final confrontation with Trent, and everything is going horribly wrong.
Relationships: Beau/Yasha/Jester/Caleb/Fjord/Caduceus, Polynein
Series: Peanut Butter Murder Time [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1568989
Comments: 44
Kudos: 388





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> HK: Okay, so important first caveat: I am 2 weeks behind and not catching up til this was posted, cuz I started writing it in February as a sequel to Glitter and Gleam. It does tie in with the “I am only here to hurt you” series and so does that, so it’s reorganization time!  
> Mollymauk: And you had a cameo to mention.  
> HK: I did have a cameo to mention! Queen of the Quill requested to help Yussah beat up Trent, so here we are!  
> Mollymauk: Offended that I didn’t get to beat up Trent. Big time.  
> HK: I will write you ghost punching if you want ghost punching?  
> Mollymauk: ... Okay, tempting.  
> HK: Just some catharsis ahead of tonight’s episode for now. 
> 
> WARNINGS!! Holy fucking shit so many. Trent Ikithon, so: torture, verbal abuse, gaslighting, threats of violence, mention of child abuse  
> Caleb Widogast, so: angst, self loathing, dissociation, breakdown, actual violence, suicidal ideation 
> 
> Disclaimer: I know nothin, this is just my happy little pipe dream!

As the hand closes in his hair, Caleb isn’t sure how he got here. How it all went so wrong, so quickly. Party guests are scattering, flooding through the ballroom doors at the first sign of weapons. 

A few are staying behind, hiding behind the tables or just standing out of the way to watch in fascination. 

These people never saw the war. 

The Nein are circling now, rounding on him when they realize where Trent’s gone. They should all have been expecting it, really. The slippery bastard always had something up his sleeve. 

For a second, Caleb’s brain keeps spinning, trying to work out what he did wrong, how Trent spotted him, why this is all his fault. Then that familiar voice is hissing in his ear and all his thoughts stop. 

“Look at you,” the old man hisses, tugging Caleb’s head back effortlessly, “up and talking again. I thought it might be, when I heard what happened in Xhorhas. And you’ve even got friends.” 

Caleb can’t help the whole body flinch, his gaze flicking desperately to Beauregard. The monk is steaming, practically literally, every muscle knotted so tight Caleb can see them from here. She catches his gaze, fury and panic and terror tangled into desperation. 

Trent notices. Of course he does. A low chuckle grates over Caleb’s skin. 

“Do they know what you’ve done for me? No, of course not. They would never keep you around if they knew what you are.” 

Jester moves forward, just a step, and Trent yanks Caleb’s head back further, other hand just below his face. 

“Stay back, demonblood. It would be so easy to melt his bones from the inside.” 

There’s nothing but worry in her face, not even frustration as she backs up, clutching her symbol anxiously. It tugs at his heart, seeing so blatantly how much she cares. Knowing it could be the last time. 

“Which one is yours, Caleb? The little demon, or the monk. Look how she’s looking at me.” 

Caleb’s gaze flicks back to Beau without his consent, an inappropriate laugh rising in his throat. Fuck, he must be losing it to find any of this funny. Trent keeps going, not aware of just how ludicrous the idea is. Why Beau’s glaring like she wants to rip him in half bare handed. 

“Does she know what you are? What you’ve done? How happy you were to be a monster for me?” 

His voice is louder now, not just between them, and it sends a bolt of panic through Caleb’s gut. Beau knows some of it. A lot. Nott does too. But none of them know all of it. 

And all Trent has to do to tear down Caleb’s life is talk. 

It would be so much easier if he’d just kill him. 

An idea blossoms through Caleb’s mind and he glances around, searching for Nott. Trent is still fixated on Beau, thrilling in the way she twitches and jerks impotently the more he talks. His eyes dart occasionally to Yussah, always tracking the threat of the other mage, but Trent has never been able to resist cruelty. 

“If any of these people knew the things you’ve done, the things you’ve begged me to let you do, do you think they’d care for your life? That they would even hesitate to cut you down along with me?” 

Caleb pretends he’s not listening, searching for a flash of green in the shadows. She’s there. She must be. She always is, even when she’s falling apart. 

He spots the crossbow first, travelling along it to meet her gaze. She’s glowering at Trent almost as hard as Beauregard, but when she notices Caleb watching her she cocks her head curiously. 

Caleb mouths a single word, pointing to one of his pockets. He doesn’t dare go to touch it; even in a fancy suit, Trent knows to keep his hands in sight. 

“Firewall.” 

Nott’s eyes widen, a sudden, vicious grin spreading across her halfling face. He could swear her teeth are pointed. 

“Trent,” he says loudly, needing to take the man’s attention. Needing to keep him from noticing Nott. He actually feels the man startle, the weight of his attention shifting from Beau. 

Good. 

He shouldn’t even be looking at Caleb’s friends. 

“Oh, talking now? How nice. Are you going to beg me for their lives?” 

Caleb shakes his head, ignoring the way Trent’s grip tightens painfully. Pain is good. Pain keeps him here. 

“I’m not your weapon anymore, Trent. I am not that scared little boy who cared what you thought.” 

It’s a calculation more than a sentiment; the right blend of words, the right inflection. Because Trent could never resist an opportunity to hurt. 

He laughs on cue, yanking viciously at Caleb’s hair. The ponytail had been a stupid idea anyway. 

“Oh, dear Caleb, is that what you tell yourself? That you were just a little boy, not responsible for your actions? You were a man long before you ran from me. And you loved all the things we did together.” 

It’s true, Caleb knows it, in a way that makes his stomach twist and knot. It was always his own choice. 

So is this. 

All he has to do is keep Trent talking. And Caleb has always been such a good liar. 

“Is that what you have to tell yourself? We were all children. And then you took us, and you twisted us so that you could believe you were not alone. How many spells did you use on our minds, Master Ikithon?” 

He manages to spit the words like he believes them, like he hates the man behind him more than he hates himself. How often have Beau and Nott told him those same things? Repeated them to try and make him believe them? 

And Trent nearly undoes it all by leaning in close, his lips brushing Caleb’s ear like a lover. 

“One.” 

His whole body tenses, rigid and stiff as a board. The flames beckon, blissful emptiness waiting to swallow him up. To take him away and trap him in his memories. 

A nudge against his hand stops him. He wants to look down but can’t. Can’t let Trent catch on now. It feels like phosphorous between his fingers and Caleb closes his eyes. 

He knows what Nott thinks he’s going to do. Cast the spell a little way back, so that only Trent gets caught in the blast. He’s learned better than to take risks with this man. 

He forces his eyes open, forces himself to look at the Mighty Nein. His friends. The ones who brought him this far. A wave of gratitude overcomes him, pulling a soft smile to his lips. It’s been a long time since he let himself love anyone. 

He can see confusion in Fjord’s eyes. Yasha is solely focused on Trent, her rage barely held in check. Yussah is watching, waiting, calculating, and Caleb knows he’ll put two and two together. Jester still looks worried. He’d like to see her smile again. He’s used to not being allowed what he wants.

Beau catches on just before he casts the spell, her expressions shifting from impotent fury to horror. 

“Caleb! Don’t!” 

He centres the fucking wall on Trent, twisting it around on itself to trap them both in the inferno. Trent screams, his grip reflexively loosening, but Caleb doesn’t bother to pull away. Why would he? 

Surely killing two monsters is better than one. 

A giant pink lollipop swings through the flames towards him. Before Caleb can question what it means, it hits him in the gut and knocks him away from the wall of fire. All the air is knocked out of him and he can only protest weakly when he slams against a large furred body. 

Caduceus pats down the smouldering wizard, panic obvious in his face. 

“Hold still, Mr Caleb, I’ll get you healed up. You’ll be fine.” 

For a moment Caleb has to resist the urge to scream. He was so close to an ending. Some of it must have shown on his face, because the firbolg’s ever perceptive eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. Just pressed a handful of magic to Caleb’s chest, wiping away burns like they’re nothing. 

And then the Firewall flickers and dies. 

Trent’s standing there, both arms outstretched for the Counterspell, badly burned, bleeding, clothes and hair both charred and stinking. His narrowed eyes seek out Caleb and an animalistic snarl works its way from his throat. He takes a step forwards, eyes burning with hatred

A crossbow bolt sinks into his chest almost before the smoke clears, forcing a choked grunt. Three throwing stars fly into his face and Trent screams with rage, throwing up a hand to cast a Shield. 

One star slices his cheek open anyway, but it only seems to make him angrier. It’s enough to drag his attention from his former apprentice, turning to glower at monk and rogue. There’s another blur, dark smoke curling around the archmage’s form and he spins to face Fjord just in time for a Witch Bolt to slam into his face. 

But Trent’s never been easily distracted. Glowering, he begins walking towards Caleb. Ignoring all others. 

Right until the contact is cut off by Fjord’s thick chest. The half orc shoots Caleb a glare of his own, but this one’s filled with nothing but worry. 

“We’re gonna talk about this,” he warns gruffly before raising his sword, shouting a command word. Trent howls as an Eldritch Blast slams into the arrow wound already in his chest. 

Caleb can see the magic crackling at the man’s fingers, the terrible spells rising to his command and flickering as the three attacks hit. For a moment, he can’t believe it. They’re all still standing and combat has begun. Trent hasn’t cast an offensive spell yet, which is probably the only reason any of them are alive, but it’s so much more than he expected. 

Both hands come up, focusing on Fjord now, snarling out the incantation for a spell, and Caleb wants to scream. 

He can’t manage a Counterspell. 

Can’t protect Fjord from whatever it is Trent is trying to do. 

He’s forgotten Yussah Erenis, and apparently so has Trent, because both visibly jump when the elf’s sharp tones snap out the Counterspell. 

And Trent’s spell flickers, dies. He can’t believe it, it’s obvious in the fury on his face, but it’s gone. 

There’s nothing but hatred in the archmage’s gaze when he turns on his former teacher. 

And he doesn’t have anything like enough time to spit out a curse before Beauregard is on him. The monk is still trembling, all but vibrating with fury, and Caleb, watching from around Fjord, has never seen her so angry. her face is twisted in a rage that almost reminds Caleb of Yasha as she strikes.

She doesn’t turn to look at him, just snaps out his name. 

“Caleb!” 

And Caleb knows what she wants. Knows he can’t do it. But he turns to Yussah, hoping the elf will be able to do what he can’t. 

Yussah’s smile is vicious and almost entirely unlike him when he reaches into a pouch. There’s something way too familiar about how he pulls out the liquorice root, like he’s done it before. 

Haste burns through Beau’s veins and her smile is all clenched teeth and wrath as the familiar buzzing starts. 

Curled knuckles slam into Trent’s gut, his temple, his throat. It must be the throat that does it, because that’s the strike that forces a choked grunt from the man and his whole body stiffens. 

Stunned. 

Caleb can barely fucking breathe. 

He’s seen Beau do this so many times, taken advantage of it himself. They’re fighting Trent, actually, face on, fighting Trent, and no one’s died. 

They’re fighting Trent, and Beau has stunned him. 

Not that the monk stops there, of course. No, her rage needs an outlet, and her movements are almost a blur as she continues to strike. Trent can’t even buckle as fists pound his flesh, pummelling deep into his gut. Caleb can’t keep track, can’t count the blows that fall as she hammers into Trent. So close. Too close. She can’t be that close to him. 

Caleb’s pretty sure he hears a rib crack. 

Both he and Trent are all too used to that sound. 

It’s not until Yasha moves up behind him that Caleb realizes he’s never seen rage before. Her expression is pure, incandescent wrath, charred black wings rising behind her, crackling with electricity and transforming her into an avenging angel. Her strike with the Magician’s Judge is textbook, a diagonal gash across the archmage’s back that spurts blood instantly. 

He’s not sure when or how but suddenly Nott is there again too, panic writ large across her face. She can focus enough to draw her crossbow though, sending another two bolts to jam into Trent’s thighs. The archmage can barely stutter out a growl of pain, his eyes pure venom when they find Caleb again. 

None of them are quite sure where the crystal fruit bowl comes from, but it thuds into the side if Trent’s head with a deeply satisfying ringing sound, spraying wizard and women with grapes. 

Caleb’s gaze automatically tracks back to the thrower, a worried but angry young human ducking behind one of the banquet tables. Short, dark brown hair half conceals an expression torn between triumph and panic. 

He supposes if he beaned Trent in the face with a fruit bowl he might feel a little more than just panic. But then, the wall of fire didn’t help. He can’t think, can’t react, can barely comprehend what’s going on. 

But Beau’s hit Trent once. 

He can help her hit again. 

One hand goes automatically to his pocket for a drop of molasses and he rubs it across his lower lip, eyes narrowing on Trent as he casts Slow. 

Even the spasms of his muscles seem to slow down, and Beau’s grin widens as she cracks her knuckles. 

She knows this spell. Knows who has her back. 

Yussah’s circling slowly, golden eyes narrowed as he considers his options. Trent’s eyes widen in slow motion as he draws out a handful of marbles, but he can’t even open his mouth to scream anymore. 

Caleb’s jaw drops. 

He’s never seen Feeblemind before. And maybe hadn’t fully anticipated just how valuable it would be to have Yussah Erenis along for the ride. 

The psychic blast from the spell would knock Trent off his feet if Yasha weren’t there to catch him, her silent sentinel not giving him an inch to escape. 

Both wizards are almost holding their breath now, but there’s no way to know how much of the spell has affected Trent until he can move again. 

Jester runs forward, her duplicate at her side, both pairs of hands moving together to cast the spell. It’s a long shot, she’s well aware, but they’re going to need Trent down and out fast to finish it. 

And against all the odds... there’s a sudden inrush of air, and Trent disappears, his body vanishing in a sudden loud crack as four wooden legs hit the floor. 

Beau spins to stare incredulously at Jester. 

“A fucking chair?!” 

The tiefling shrugs, her duplicate dropping beside Caleb and Caduceus. Intangible hands rest on the wizard’s arm, bringing with them a warm rush of healing magic. It isn’t a lot, but anything helps now. 

“I figured it was something he couldn’t fight back in!” 

There’s a moment of stunned silence broken only by the clatter of a bowl falling from the table the human had hidden behind. Beau’s gaping, unable to find the words. 

For once, it’s Yasha who finds them first. 

“I mean she’s not wrong.” 

Fjord steps forward, his expression still stony as he reaches into his bag of holding for a set of thick lead manacles bought just for this occasion. 

“Let’s just finish this.” He pauses when he reaches the chair, hesitating to open the cuffs. “Uh... Jester, where are his arms?” 

Jester shrugs, her gaze still darting back to Caleb every other second. 

“Probably two of the legs. Get Yasha to hold the back and it won’t really matter if he changes back.” 

As long as the next step in their plan works. Caleb wants to scream, to warn them that no matter how this looks, it isn’t over. But he can’t quite draw breath. 

There’s no fucking way this is going so well. 

Fjord clicks the manacles around the legs of the chair just before there’s another powerful swell of magic. Caleb manages a strangled shout, but it isn’t Trent’s spell. 

It’s Caduceus. 

A wash of energy flows over Caleb, over all of them, and there’s another rush of displaced air as the chair vanishes, leaving Trent on his hands and knees on the floor, chained. Jester makes a disappointed noise and Caduceus shakes his head, helping Caleb to his feet. 

“That should work a little better. You’ll need to bring Caleb outside to heal him, though,” he tells the other cleric, passing the wizard over and strolling towards the fallen archmage. Yasha has yanked him to his feet, grip firm on the back of his robes and bringing them tight around his throat. 

“What have you done?” The archmage snarls as Caduceus approaches, his voice barely more than a whisper in Yasha’s grip. Caduceus smiles pleasantly as Yasha slowly, deliberately pushes the Magician’s Judge into Trent’s thigh. 

“Just a little Antimagic Field. You’ll find you won’t be able to cast any spells while I’m here.” 

“Fool,” Trent spits, his face going red from lack of air, “the rest of the Cerberus Assembly will be here in seconds and I will enjoy watching you die.” 

Caduceus’ peaceful smile doesn’t even flicker. 

“Oh, the rest of the Assembly is being dealt with too, those who have been involved in the recent unpleasantness. We just asked nicely if we could take care of you personally.” 

Trent’s eyes flick to Caleb again, but before he can open his mouth Beau has moved between them. Haste has to have fallen along with every other spell in the sphere; she can’t be shaking from the magic. 

It’s all rage, and plants her curled knuckles directly into his vocal chords. 

“You don’t look at him,” she snarls, another four strikes landing across Trent’s chest. He jerks, powerless to defend himself or do anything in Yasha’s grasp. 

Caleb can’t look away, can’t even blink. They have him. All they have to do is keep Caduceus from being distracted, and Trent will be completely powerless. Nott comes out of hiding, clambering across a table to get closer. That’s how he knows there’s nothing else around. 

No defences. 

No guards. 

King Bertrand has kept his word; nothing will get in their way now that they’ve been forced into action. 

The Cerberus Assembly is being brought to heel. 

Jester guides him back, out and away from Caduceus and past the edge of the field, muttering under her breath the whole way. 

“That was so stupid, Caleb, what if I couldn’t have got you out? We can bring you back from the dead now but that doesn’t mean you have to give us all a heart attack, and those diamonds aren’t cheap! You have to take care of yourself, what’s the point in doing any of this if we lose you too?” 

Her hands glow briefly green, and Caleb feels the burns across his body fade and close. Strength flows through his veins, but he doesn’t straighten. Doesn’t move away. 

“I thought...” She quiets instantly at the sound of his voice and Caleb coughs, his throat still a little raw, “I thought it was the only way.” 

He can ~hear~ the way Jester rolls her eyes without looking as she turns and drags him back into Caduceus’ sphere. 

“Beau’s right. You’re a dick. And you’re going to have to start trusting us eventually.” 

Caleb doesn’t even trust his own senses at the moment, unable to believe this is happening. It looks like Trent is suffering from a similar condition, his gaze darting around the hall, waiting for someone to intervene. Seeing no one. 

His gaze fixes onto Caleb again and his eyes narrow, nothing but pure loathing in them. Then his head jerks back, Beau’s fist in his hair as she snarls, 

“I told you not to look at him.” 

Fjord shifts between them as well, running his thumb along the blade of his sword. His demeanour is cool, calm, icy cold in a way that means he’s fucking burning on the inside. 

“It’s not polite to ignore a lady,” he drawls, kicking another chair into the circle. “Sit.” 

Trent tries to resist, his body stiffening, but he might as well not have bothered. Yasha slams him into the chair like a naughty child, the wood creaking with the force of the gesture. Caleb and Jester limp closer, and Caleb can see the first hints of fear in Trent’s eyes. 

Fear that almost immediately crystallises into anger. 

“So it’s all of them, is it? Being good pets for the fucking elf?” He snarls, pulling against Yasha’s grasp like he has a hope in hell of budging her. “Dragging them along with your clever lies, always the good little whore for power.” 

Jester’s grip tightens around him and Caleb’s heart stops. No. They can’t be back here. Not after the fucking miracle that just passed, a fight where no one died. 

Not back where Trent’s poisoned tongue can tear his life apart again. 

There’s a thrumming in his ears and he misses what Beau says as she steps forward, but there’s no missing the blow that almost knocks Trent from Yasha’s hands. The large woman jerks him upright once more, her white knuckled grip digging painfully deep. The poor chair can’t last much longer with all this jerking. 

He doesn’t know when Jester turned them, but she’s directly between Caleb and his former master now, gaze tracking over his face. Her concern hurts, her worry burns him, knowing he might have to watch it fade. Part of Caleb wants to pull himself away, but he knows he can’t. Not if this will be the last time she touches him. 

“Caleb, are you okay? Do you want to go?” 

He can just about manage to shake his head. The only thing worse than watching Trent tear his life apart would be not being there to know what he’s saying. 

The flames are burning in the back of his head, just waiting to consume him again. 

It’s tempting. 

“Widogast.” 

Yussah approaches, his voice low. Doesn’t actually touch Caleb, though his hand reaches out before stopping. 

He doesn’t look the least bothered by Trent’s words, and something about that dismissal is clearly burning the human up inside. He’s visibly seething even with Yasha and Beau on either side. 

And Yussah doesn’t spare him a glance, his attention on Caleb. He’s staying close to the edge of the Antimagic Field, and to be honest Caleb can see why. 

Being within it feels horribly like being declawed. Knowing Trent is declawed too doesn’t actually help. 

Yussah steps closer, gaze flicking from Jester to the other wizard. 

“Caleb,” he tries again, a degree of urgency in his voice, “we can end this now.” 

The idea that even Yussah is worrying about him now is somehow almost offensive and Caleb makes another struggle to find his voice. 

“We need to know what he knows.” 

Jester rolls her eyes, blowing her hair off her face. 

“Who cares what he knows? There’s plenty of others we can ask, and he’s just going to lie. All he is is a big dumb liar.” 

She’s not keeping her voice down even a little, and she’s so good at getting under peoples’ skin that Trent doesn’t seem to notice the implication. 

No, his lips curl back off his teeth and he spits words before Beau can cut him off again. 

“Is that what he told you? The truth is so much more effective.” 

Beau grabs the front of his shirt again, only to be stopped by Fjord. 

“Hey Beau,” he says in a casual voice, like they’re just discussing the weather, “think your truth punch thing counts as a spell?” 

Beau considers the question, cocking an eyebrow at Caduceus. The firbolg shrugs. 

“Only one way to find out?” He offers. 

Beau shrugs back, rolling her wrist and giving Trent a nasty smile. 

“You can try and resist,” she tells him cheerfully, “I’m just gonna keep hitting you.” 

His eyes widen and he grits his teeth, which does nothing to help when her next strike catches just below his jaw. The way his eyes narrow definitely suggests that the compulsion’s taking hold. 

Yasha yanks his head back to meet his gaze, her expression almost eerily calm. After her previous rage, this is somehow scarier. 

“What do you know about Tharizdun?” 

Before he can answer, Nott turns from scavenging fruit off the floor and casually drops a half eaten apple in his lap. 

“Oh come on, he’s only the monkey. He won’t know the organ grinder.” 

There are visible veins bulging in Trent’s jaw from how tightly his teeth are clenched. Desperate to regain any form of control, his gaze flicks back to Caleb and Yussah. 

“Hiding outside the spell’s effect?” He manages to growl, every word not answering the question costing him an obvious effort. “Always a coward.” 

Yasha gives him another rough shake, and is surprised enough to actually stop when Yussah raises a hand. The elf mage walks forward, deeper into the spell, and the Nein fall apart to let him through. 

None of them have known what to do with him since the revelation that he taught Ikithon. He’s not known what to do with them since he learned what his former pupil’s methods have actually become. 

But one does not reach a second century without learning new tricks beyond the first. 

He stops barely a foot in front of the chair, well within whatever personal space Trent may have preferred. There’s nothing but cold disdain in his eyes when he looks down at the beaten, bloodied man. 

“I thought I taught you to know when you were beaten, Trent.” He even sounds every inch the disappointed teacher, and Caleb physically flinches away. 

The barest flicker of a twitch even crosses Trent’s face. 

If Yussah notices, he doesn’t bother to crack the facade. He just shakes his head, half turning away. 

“And here I thought you could not shame me more.” 

Confusion passes across Trent’s face now, completely wrong footed by the comment and apparent dismissal. 

Yussah’s sudden blow takes him completely by surprise, a series of quick, sharp jabs to the chest that finally do break the chair beneath the man. 

Beau’s staring wide eyed as Yussah steps back, her jaw on the floor. 

She knows that style. 

Yussah adjusts his robes placidly, looking down his nose at his former pupil crumpled on the ground. 

“I have never needed magic to show you your place, child. I only wish I had known your predilections sooner so that I could ensure you won’t enjoy it.” 

Fjord, wide eyed himself, leans over to give Beau a quick slap upside the head. It works enough to make the monk stop gaping and she stumbles forward, unable to take her eyes off Yussah. 

“You... that was...” 

The elf pauses, gives her a slight smile. 

“I was not born in an enchanted tower, Beauregard. I’ve had need to develop... some unorthodox skills. Do give Dairon my best, and tell them to quit being a stubborn ass and come visit.” 

Beau’s mouth works soundlessly again, opening and closing. 

Nott’s retrieved a new chair in the meantime, and Yasha hauls an utterly stunned Trent up and onto it. 

“Are we interrogating him?” The big woman asks, looking around at her companions. Her fingers curl around the hilt of her sword, a silent reminder of the alternative. 

All eyes turn to Caleb. 

It takes a physical effort for him to wrench his own off Yussah, but they slide immediately to Trent once he’s done it. 

The man looks... so dishevelled. Beaten, bruised, bloody, his hair a mess and robes torn and dishevelled. Looking so much more beaten than Caleb had ever expected to see. 

It’s hard to believe any of it is happening. 

Jester shifts beside him, her fingers curling through his and squeezing gently. Ready to support him with whatever he needs. 

Caleb draws in a deep breath, closing his eyes a moment to center himself. Reaching into the dark place where he won’t feel, just like Trent taught him. 

The sense of calm he feels when he looks at the man again is nerve deadening. 

The Antimagic Field will complicate things, but. Well. 

Trent taught him well. 

** 

There’s not much left of Cerberus Assembly Member, Respected Figure Trent Ikithon by the time Caleb’s finished with him. Caduceus himself carries the man to a more private room, just to ensure he never left the Antimagic Field. 

A tiny part of Caleb wants to ask the others to stay outside. To make sure they won’t see, won’t know just what he is. 

He knows he can’t do it all alone. Knows he’ll need the backup. 

And that sweet, comforting numbness wraps around the fear and smothers it. 

Jester’s close on his elbow while they walk, casting more healing spells every time they get far enough back. 

No one else seems to be hurting, so it doesn’t seem worth telling her that all his wounds have closed. 

The urge to close the door in her face, to keep her out of there is almost overwhelming. 

He thinks Yasha will understand. 

So he stops in the doorway, his face and voice completely blank as he turns to Jester. 

“Wait outside.” 

And she pauses, her gaze searching his face. Whatever she finds, it crushes part of him to see the tears welling in her eyes. Part of him hopes he’ll never have to see that again. 

But she nods. 

Wipes her eyes. 

Pulls him into a tight hug that he can’t return, that frays at the numbness and almost pulls him back to himself. 

He has to pull himself away. 

The others hesitate with her, not sure who’s allowed to go or stay. 

Caduceus will have to be there to keep the spell running. Yasha, to be physical backup. 

Caleb takes a moment to survey the rest. 

A few of them have skills that could be useful. 

Fjord’s shown a decided willingness to kick ass when the occasion calls for it. And Beauregard... well. 

Her ability to force the truth will be invaluable for interrogation. 

That small voice inside wants nothing more than to lock them all out, but he can’t be sure that if he’s left alone, he won’t go back to Trent. 

He needs something to remind him what’s really worth fighting for. 

He nods to Beauregard and Yasha, gesturing for them to follow him in. 

“Wait outside,” he says again, gaze shifting to Fjord, Yussah, and... 

And Nott strides straight past him and into the room, her expression fucking daring him to comment. It’s another chip, another crack in the numb. 

But... she’s known him the longest. Knows him the best, despite how often she sings praises he knows are unearned. And she’s never turned away. 

Maybe what she sees today will be what she needs to run straight back to her family, where she belongs. 

None of the three left behind look remotely happy about it, but Yussah at least looks like he understands. Fjord folds his arms, frowning past Caleb into the room. 

“Call if you need anything,” he says, tone almost a warning. 

Caleb can’t imagine the warning is for anything but him. 

Jester huffs, tucking herself tight to Fjord’s side. 

“We’re coming in when the hour’s up anyway,” she’s definitely warning them, her tone almost a threat. An order to be done before then. 

Caleb considers telling her not to come. 

But then, they still have 40 minutes. 

He’s done more in less. 

Something Yussah sees in his face makes the elf step closer, resting a hand on Caleb’s shoulder. The first time he’s touched Caleb since they were alone in his tower that first time. 

Caleb’s expression doesn’t flicker, and Yussah looks deep into his eyes before nodding slowly. No words, then. 

It’d be hard to imagine what words could work. 

** 

The door closing behind him may as well be a death knell. Trent knows, it’s creeping slowly into his eyes as Caleb approaches. When he doesn’t let the others in. 

But he didn’t become a member of the leading order of wizards by being a coward. 

“Think you’ll be able to keep the truth from them?” He hisses, voice low and venomous. “You’re still too weak to face me alone. Or will you kill these four too, to keep your little secret?” 

A very large hand closes around the man’s shoulder, and he actually jumps at the force. 

Caduceus has been nothing but gentle, nothing but calm since his spell came into effect. Seeing anger on even his face is frankly startling. 

“I think you’ve made enough snide little insinuations,” the cleric says, his voice still conversational and quiet. Only the creak of bone as his grip tightens shows that the fury on his face is no lie. “Time to come clean.” 

Caleb can’t help being grateful that Caduceus has made the first move. Has dirtied his own hands, like it’ll do anything to keep the firbolg from being disgusted with him when he sees what Caleb is. It makes it easier to step forward, holding a hand out to Nott. 

She slips a dagger into it without asking. 

Trent’s eyes widen, then narrow. 

He thinks he knows exactly what Bren Ermendrud is capable of. 

No matter what he thinks, he does not know Caleb Widogast. 

** 

It’s not quite an hour by the time Beau takes him by the shoulder. 

“I think that’s it,” she says quietly, voice and expression unreadable. 

Caleb can barely hear her at all through the red haze, but her unmoving grip forces him back. He pauses, staring at the lump of meat that used to be his mentor. His teacher. The man who offered him the world. 

The bastard that stole his life and turned him into a monster. 

Well, Caleb’s finished that transformation now. The state of the man before them is more than proof enough. 

Only Yasha didn’t turn away throughout, a solid and constant presence. She’s let her friends down so many times, but she wasn’t about to do it again. 

It’s a relief to know at least one of them understands about being a beast on a leash. 

Perhaps when the dust settles, they can leave together. Go somewhere they can’t hurt anyone. Where Yasha can be saved, and Caleb can pretend it’s something he would one day be allowed. 

She steps forward now, drawing her blade and holding it to Trent’s chest. But she still looks to Caleb. Waiting for his permission. 

Part of him wants to drag it out even longer. Doesn’t want to give Trent the gift of a quick death. 

The isolating fog of numbness makes it easier to push that part back too, back with the sobbing voice that wants nothing more than to curl up in a ball. To throw himself back into the fire and never come out. 

Time to wake up. 

He nods, and Yasha turns her gaze to Trent. He only has one eye left and it doesn’t have time to widen. She pushes the blade through his chest as easily as a knife through butter. 

There’s one last gasp, a sharp exhalation, and then the man is gone. It snaps a thread in Caleb too, and he sways sharply. Would fall, if Beau didn’t catch him. 

She looks alarmed, but just slightly relieved when Caleb doesn’t push away. His knees are shaking much too hard to stand. 

“Hey... you okay?” 

It’s a stupid question, and Caleb can’t quite work it out. 

It’s over. 

It’s finally over. 

It can’t be over. 

“I need...” all of a sudden his voice is nothing but a harsh rasp and he has to force himself to swallow, “I need to see him.” 

To see the body. 

To know that it’s over, that Trent is dead and beyond resurrection. That he can finally stop running. 

If he can persuade himself not to run from his friends. 

Caduceus takes a step forward, a hand coming back to the corpse’s shoulder. He’d stepped away during the torture, as far as he could go and done his best to meditate. He’s seen so much since he left the Blooming Grove, but this? 

He looks up, pink gaze meeting blue. 

Still shaking, Caleb manages to make it the last of the distance to the body by having Beau basically carry him. Sinks to his knees in front of the body, Beau all but falling with him. 

Whatever he sees, Caduceus nods silently and focuses. Drops the Antimagic Field. Casts Decompose. 

Mushrooms bloom down from where his hand rests, the body beginning to fall apart and decay where it sits. It won’t stop a resurrection, they all know that, but it’s a place to start. 

He can’t breathe. 

Not from the smell, he’s smelled worse and been the cause of worse. But there doesn’t seem to be any air in the room. 

Trent is dead. 

Trent is dead because they won. 

Oh, so much of it was luck, and it still barely seems real, but... 

Trent is gone. 

Caleb supposes that leaves only one monster. 

They have enough information to find the rest of the Scourgers, enough hopefully to bring them back to the light. Even that thought doesn’t bring the same comfort it usually does, though. 

It’s like a massive spoon has scooped out all of his insides, leaving him a raw and bloody shell. 

What is he doing? 

What will he live for now? 

He doesn’t even notice when Yasha lifts him from the floor, strong arms unbearably gentle as she cradles the unresponsive wizard. She exchanges a speaking look with Beau, who moves immediately for the door. 

No way of telling how much getting Caleb away from the smell of blood and rot will help, but hell. 

Better to avoid the others coming in and seeing the mess. 

Caduceus lingers by the corpse a moment longer, considering. He isn’t sure what King Dwendall is planning to do, but doesn’t trust that he doesn’t have another plan. The man had agreed just a little too quickly to be trusted. 

He glances over at Nott, who is watching Caleb with a complicated look on her face. 

“Should we bring him with us?” He asks, gesturing to the remains of Trent Ikithon. 

Nott’s brows furrow in confusion and she frowns up at him. 

“Why? You think he deserves a grave?” The words are spat with an almost choking level of bitterness, and Caduceus almost smiled. 

“I think we should be sure no one else tries to bring him back.” 

Nott purses her lips, brows drawing down in a frown. It was a decidedly unpleasant thought, but not one they could risk coming to pass. 

If nothing else the effect on Caleb would be devastating. 

She pulls her crossbow, setting an exploding arrow into the stock. 

Seeing the bolt, Caduceus takes three fast steps back. 

“You need a body to resurrect, right?” Nott asks, eyes narrowed down the sights. She doesn’t wait for an answer before firing, the blast sending blood and mushrooms splattering in all directions. 

Caduceus, not quite able to get away in time, winces at the burns and battering of shrapnel. With an exasperated sigh, he brushes bits of Trent off his face. 

“Disintegration is a more typical solution.” 

Both Beau and Yasha had jerked around at the explosion, just in time to be splattered with blood. More splattered, in Yasha’s case. Caleb didn’t so much as flinch. 

That more than anything else takes the wind from Caduceus’ sales and he makes his way to the door. 

At least she hasn’f killed him this time. 

And now they have some plausible deniability for the amount of blood on Caleb. 

Jester nearly has a heart attack when they open the door and she sees Caleb being carried. She’s on Yasha in a moment, hands buzzing with another useless healing spell as she pats the wizard down. 

“What happened! You’re all bloody! Is he okay!” 

“Miss Nott decided that we should dispose of the body,” Caduceus tells her from the back of the group, his voice dry enough to almost be sarcastic. 

“She blew him the fuck up,” Beau elaborates, taking Jester gently into her arms to lead her away. Fjord can’t take his eyes off the other two. 

Yussah looks between the group, brows furrowing in concern as he tries to work out what was going on. With Jester out of the way, the others can all leave the room, clearing a path for him to survey the contents. And pull a double take at the extent of the mess. 

“I... was going to offer to Disintegrate the rest, but it seems Prestidigitation may be more appropriate...” He forces himself to swallow, banishing the shock from his voice. “Though I should probably do you five first.” 

Both hands rise, and he pauses, gaze dropping back to Caleb. Not sure how the magic would affect him. 

Nothing seems to be breaking through to him for the moment. 

It might not be a bad thing to change that. 

The cantrip buzzes smoothly over skin and clothing, removing all evidence that Trent Ikithon had ever been there. Then he nods to the hallway. 

“You go and rest. I will deal with the rest.” 

Exactly how the taciturn elf would handle the fallout was... questionable at best, but he knew enough of the Cerberus Assembly and enough who had been found innocent that they left him to it. 

None of them want to force Caleb back into another throne room. And none of them want to leave him. 

Yasha carries him out of the castle and back to the inn they’d first taken lodgings in. It was out, away, far from anywhere Trent had ever been. The rest of the Nein flank her on all sides, hands ready on weapons for any kind of attack. 

It didn’t feel like a victory. 

** 

Back at the inn, Jester guides Yasha immediately to the bath. The rest of the Nein go to follow, but this time it’s her who stops them in the doorway. 

“I don’t think we should all be in here with him,” she says firmly, steel they’ve rarely seen in tone and expression. “We don’t want to overwhelm him.” 

Fjord makes an immediate noise of protest, not about to be left behind again, but Jester raises a hand to cut him off. 

“And someone’s gotta make sure we have somewhere safe to go after. Get all the mattresses and pillows and blankets together and make us a nest.” 

For a moment, Fjord glowers at Yasha’s back. They all know he still resents her for her time with Obann. But he’s smart enough not to say it, not to ask why ~she~ gets to take care of Caleb when he can’t. 

Caleb has always been her most vocal defender, tied with Jester. And it might help for him to have someone who understands. 

Fjord would like to think he understands, that his time with Uk’otoa and Avantika has given him a glimpse of what it’s like to be used. Controlled. 

But that was barely any time at all, and both Caleb and Yasha have been trapped in that state for years. 

Remembering that takes the wind from the half orc’s sails and he nods reluctantly, though he still hasn’t relinquished his blade. Beau’s noticed, and she pats him on the shoulder. 

“You guard the door,” she tells him in a low voice. An excuse to be closer, there in case Caleb ever needs him. It’s not gonna be as easy to lump all the mattresses together without their two powerhouses anyway, but they can make it work. 

Fjord pauses, nods. Glances at Jester, but she’s already softened; she’s not about to fight him if she can avoid it. One hand reaches out, brushes his wrist. 

“It’s going to take all of us to bring him back,” she whispers, tears choking her voice, “we just have to start slow.” And she’s learned over the months, watched all the others as they take Caleb aside. 

She remembers what Molly would have done. 

It’s not been her before now, but it’s a full, visceral need to be doing something. Anything. 

So yeah, she knows why Fjord wants to stay close. 

No one bothers to point out that Yussah’s cleaned them all up. The bath isn’t about washing so much as it’s about routine. The others head upstairs, ready to strip their rooms and build a nest they can all retire to. 

Jester pauses a moment before closing the door, indecision on her face. How much will be too much? Two of them is already a lot. Three... 

Finally she nods for Fjord to come just inside and closes the door. 

Once it’s shut, Yasha begins to try and ease Caleb out of his coat. Jester hurries to help, and it does take both of them to get the utterly unmoving wizard stripped. The clothes are still charred, still burned and battle damaged, and Jester takes a moment to see what Mending will do while Yasha climbs into the bath with Caleb. 

Cantrips are all she has left now, her spell casting more slapdash than ever in her worry. 

Even that isn’t enough to repair the damage from a Firewall, and she tosses them aside with a strangled cry of disgust. 

Fjord hesitates a moment, then turns back to the door. 

“I’ll get him something of mine and send someone out to get him some new stuff.” He doesn’t want to leave the wizard’s side, but it’s so so good to be able to help. To have a clear goal. 

A problem he can solve. 

Having a solution settles Jester as well, and she can strip enough to climb into the bath too. Rexxentrum is so unlike almost everywhere they’ve ever been, she’s not seen a private bath so large even in Rohsona, but she knows if they go back she’s going to acquire one. Their spa is wonderful, but it’s not for washing. 

The water is steaming hot, hot enough to draw a gasp of pleasure from her as she sinks into it. It’s a balm to sore muscles, an ease of tight tension, and just for that moment, everything seems to be okay. 

Yasha’s sat in the water, Caleb balanced in her lap to keep his head above the surface. He isn’t putting any effort into keeping himself upright. Just slumped against the barbarian’s form, staring straight ahead and unmoving. 

It’d be hard to say he’d even noticed the changes. 

He’s so far from his body right now that he vaguely notices warmth? But nothing else. 

It’s quiet in the room. 

A little darker than the bright lights of the ballroom, less sporadic than the streetlights. 

There’s nothing at all inside his head. Not even flames, buzzing, or even screams. Just a dull, aching void that thrums with emptiness. 

Jester tries to fix a smile on her face as she approaches, but gives it up as a bad job. It doesn’t really matter; she’s not convinced Caleb can see her. Just a vague blue blur. 

Her gaze shifts to Yasha and she chews on her lower lip. 

“So... what now?” She knows the theory, knows you need to give Caleb choices to bring him back, but he’s entirely nonverbal. Unresponsive. 

Yasha’s expression is complicated as she looks down at the wizard. Tenderness, worry, and pain vie with the underlying rage still burning in her eyes. 

Trent’s dead now, she killed him herself, and it’s still not enough. 

If Caleb wanted it, burning down the entire city may still not be enough. 

Her pale skin is already turning red from the heat of the water, and so is Caleb’s; the same colour for the first time. She rests one hot hand on his shoulder to compare. Turns to Jester. 

“Talk to him,” she says softly. It’s not her forte, but it is Jester’s, and the tiefling latches onto the idea immediately. 

“Okay... Caleb, are you ready for a bath now?” As soon as the words are out she regrets them.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. They’re already in the water. 

What if he said no? 

She moves closer, kneeling on the bottom of the tub and taking his hand in hers, pressing it to her cheek. 

“Caleb,” she calls again softly, lilac gaze tracking his face. 

He’s staring straight through her, barely registering her presence. 

It’s scary. 

None of them have seen him this far gone. 

She’d like to think it’s for a better reason, this time, what with Trent finally being gone and all, but it’s hard to imagine. What could possibly be good if it leaves Caleb so broken? 

Her grip tightens on his hand for a moment, and she nuzzles into his palm. Stealing just a little comfort for herself. 

“It’s okay,” she tells him gently, fingers tracing slow, wet lines across his skin, “we’ll take care of you. For as long as you need, alright?” 

She glances up at Yasha for affirmation, some sign she’s doing something right. There are tears in the large woman’s eyes, and for a second Jester wishes she’d let someone else do this. 

Caduceus is so much better at soft and quiet. A better healer than she is in every way. 

A cold hand runs gently through her hair, cupping the back of her head tenderly and she stills. Closes her eyes. 

Of course she’s not alone. She’s never alone. The Traveler has helped her with this before, and she has to show him that she’s been paying attention. That she’s learned from the times before. 

That no matter how much she feels like a scared little girl, she needs to be there for her friend. 

She manages to give Yasha a smile, reaching out to take her hand as well and squeeze it. To have both of them in so much pain shakes her to her very core, but that’s why it’s her turn to be strong. Then her eyes turn back to Caleb, looking determinedly into his empty stare. 

“You’re all clean already, technically, but that doesn’t mean you don’t need a bath. I’m going to start with a massage, okay?” She waits, and it seems like hours, seems like days. Weeks. Years. 

When Caleb inclines his head just a fraction, for a minute she’s sure she imagined it. And she doesn’t want to be a bother, but it is so important that they listen to him. 

“Is that a yes?” 

It’s another long, titanic pause, and then that tiny dip again. A tiny nod. 

Jester clings to the gesture like a lifeline, relief pouring off her in waves and she barely remembers to ask the question. 

“Would you like me to begin at your head or your feet?” 

The wizard’s brow creases, just a fraction of a motion but it looks like annoyance. Like he doesn’t want to be bothered with questions. 

It’s almost enough to crush her confidence entirely, but she’s ready for it this time. Ready to push on. 

Because whether he wants to or not, they need Caleb to come back. 

“Blink once for your head, twice for your feet,” Yasha suggests quietly, and the smile she gives Jester is reassuring. She knows what it’s like to not have any words, but she also knows how to communicate without them. 

She learned so much from Molly. 

It’s another age while the words sink through to Caleb, and he manages to at least focus his eyes on Jester’s blue blur and blink deliberately twice. 

The heat of the water is seeping through to his bones, and in a detached way he has to admit that it’s nice. He’s still numb, but the fog in his brain is warm now. Part of him is tempted to sink deeper into the water, but Yasha will definitely catch him if he looks like he’ll drown. 

The peace would be nice. But he’s slowly coming to terms with the idea that he’s still alive. 

As far as sensations go, hot water isn’t the worst one to have. His whole body still feels like a statue, like it’s made of stone, impossible to move. But Jester and Yasha can move him like he doesn’t weigh anything, so he doesn’t have to try. 

That’s nice too, in a chilly way. 

He doesn’t have to think of his body as his. It’s their problem now, for them to take care of. All he has to do is let them, and that’s something he’s always been able to do. 

It’s almost settling from hollowness to peace as Jester takes first one foot, then the other in hand, massaging each gently but firmly. It’s a reminder that he has feet. That his body has an end, and has to exist at all. 

There’s a mumbling that he can focus into Jester asking if he’s ready for her to move if he tries. 

Nodding is a momentous effort every time, but he knows it will make them happy. So long as it’s not for him, he can make the effort. 

Strong hands kneed the tension from his calves, first one and then the other. Becoming aware of the muscles relaxing brings awareness of just how knotted and tight they are through the rest of him. It hurts, and it’s a dilemma. 

On the one hand, he knows he deserves the pain. Knows that he should be suffering. There’s a deeply masochistic part of him that’s tempted to return just for that. 

But at the same time... being in his body hurts. And staying as he is, nothing but void, he can’t feel anything and he doesn’t want to come back just for pain. 

Jester keeps massaging his calves, patient and gentle, her eyes flicking from Caleb’s face to Yasha’s. Below the water, her tail curls around the barbarian woman’s waist, the best hug she can give while they’re both focused on their wizard. 

Yasha gives her a gentle smile, one hand slipping from Caleb’s hip to stroke through the tiefling’s hair before moving back. 

None of them notice when the door opens, but then Fjord is back and closing it behind him, grumbling under his breath. 

“Sorry that took so long,” he sighs, bringing his nightshirt over near the towels and tub, “Nott decided that literally everything soft had to be in the nest an’ it took a while to dig out. I sent her out for new clothes for Caleb.” 

He leans on the edge of the tub a moment to give the human a small smile. 

“I’ll take you shoppin’ for something proper when you’re more up to it,” he says softly, and when Caleb’s gaze shifts to focus on him his smile becomes broad and genuine. “Well hello there.” 

Then his gaze drifts to Yasha and he double takes. 

“Yasha, are you fully dressed?” 

There’s a moment while that sinks in, and then Jester turns to survey the barbarian as well. She looks just a little sheepish, glancing down at her entirely clothed self. 

“It didn’t seem important?” 

Even Caleb manages to turn his head enough to look over, the ghost of a smile barely twitching the corners of his mouth. It’s just... so like Yasha. 

She never seems to think of herself. 

It’s kind of a problem the whole Nein have. 

** 

Fjord doesn’t end up joining them in the water, but doesn’t go all the way back to the door either. Instead, he’s relegated to towel boy, ready to take Caleb when it’s time to leave the bath. 

The first time it comes up, Yasha’s grip immediately tightens on the wizard under the water, tight enough that he can actually feel it. He doesn’t let on, though. He’s already got almost all of his weight on her, so there’s only so much he can lean into her. 

Jester pauses when he moves, so that’s not as subtle as he’d hoped for, but Yasha settles. Her hands relax, stroking gently across his skin. Silent apology, reassurance, affirmation. 

She presses a kiss to the top of his head, and Jester’s smiling when she goes back to her massage. 

“How about you nod when you’re ready for me to move on, Caleb?” She asks, her fingers trailing gently along his shins. 

He manages another tiny nod, eyes tracking to her face for the smile he knows it’ll bring. She’s positively radiant, and he almost has to close his eyes, but that would mean looking away. Not seeing her. And he needs to see her to know why he’d ever come back at all. 

There’s a giggle in her voice as she leans in, arms folded on her knees. 

“Is that a yes, or are you telling me to move on?” She asks playfully, then pauses. “Blink once for yes?” 

It saves him giving her an exasperated look, but he blinks twice just to be a pain in the ass. She tries to pout, but there’s so much obvious joy on her face that he’s interacting that it has no heat. She sits back up, both hands moving to one thigh to work the knots out of his muscles. 

Honestly, his muscles are nothing but knots at this point, and the sharp stabs of pain that come from working them loose are deadened by his distance. Part of him, the part that does want to come back, is considering staying away until she’s finished. 

Just so he doesn’t have to deal. 

But the heat of the water is soothing, and even when she presses to work a knot loose, Jester’s hands are delicate and she intersperses the pressure with soothing caresses. Yasha has to turn him gently to make her work easier, setting Caleb’s back to her chest. 

It lets her rest her chin on top of his head too, and there just aren’t words for how protected it makes him feel. It’s wonderful, and he can’t imagine why he doesn’t do it all the time. Her arms have slipped around his waist, more of a hug than support now, and he manages to move one hand just enough to rest it over hers. 

She doesn’t move exactly, just turns her hand over so she can hold his. Their fingers lace and she squeezes gently for just a moment. 

Jester’s taking her time, working corded muscles loose again. It makes her feel productive, and they’ve already coaxed so much interaction out of Caleb already. 

He’s aware of them again, and that’s already so much. 

It’s Yasha’s idea for her to sing. 

“Just so it isn’t so quiet,” she says in her low, soft voice. If her cheeks weren’t already flushed from the warm, they would have been now. 

A purple flush tinges Jester’s cheeks too and she squirms a little. Torn between knowing it’s a good idea, and sudden shyness. Her mother is a famous singer so maybe it isn’t surprising that Jester is a little insecure about her own voice. 

“I... I mean... if you think it’ll help, I guess...” she looks to Fjord pleadingly, though whether for a way out or encouragement is hard to say. Either way, the half orc gives her a reassuring smile. 

“We can take it in turns?” He offers instead. He has a rich, wonderful singing voice, and deliberately switches accents for a rousing sea shanty. He’s not belting it out at full volume, but people passing the room can almost definitely hear it. 

Jester giggles through the bawdy bits, and offers a significantly dirtier shanty of her own when Fjord’s done. She’s a little off key, but enthusiastic enough to make up for it. 

Yasha doesn’t contribute for the first few rounds, and neither push her too. When she does join in, it’s in a language only Caleb understands, the song soft and even the language itself musical. There’s a haunting beauty to it, and when she finishes the whole room is momentarily silent. 

The massage continues while they sing, though Jester’s attention is definitely split, with the majority on Caleb, waiting for a nod. They’re small enough still that they’d be easy to miss, and there’s a lot of him to massage. 

Once his legs are done, she offers him the choice of head or hands, with the same blink code as before. When Caleb actually offers her his hand directly, Jester presses a kiss to it immediately before getting to work. She massages each finger individually, gentle and affectionate as she works down the hand. 

It makes him want to smile, even if that’s still a lot of work. 

The music is helping too, luring him back to the world. Forcing himself to be present enough to hear, at least so he knows why Jester is cackling. 

Eventually, they’ve finished his whole body, and while it still feels like it’s on the end of very long strings, all the feelings he’s getting are nice. He’s chest to chest with Yasha now, Jester gently massaging shoulders and neck while Yasha’s fingers trace slowly over his lower back. 

Fjord’s singing again, and he really is doing his best not to make it a dirty sing along. Jester’s tossing out the lewdest she has every three songs or so, just because it does make Caleb’s lips twitch. 

She can’t see his face now though, since his forehead is pressed to Yasha’s collarbone. His eyes are shut now anyway, letting the music and soft touches soothe him. 

Finally the last question comes. 

“Are you ready to get out?” 

They’ve been down there at least a couple hours, and the water has needed reheating twice. It’s something else for Fjord to do and he’s perfectly happy to make sure his companions are safe and warm. 

It’s Yasha who stiffens at the question, her arms tightening around his waist. 

Caleb considers it. 

It’s not exactly quiet in the bath, but it is... peaceful. It feels safe, being surrounded by warmth and soft touches. Moving is still far, far too much work, and even the thought of trying to stand himself makes him shy away. 

But he knows that’s not the question. 

Fjord’s moved into position at once, scooping up a towel and ready to receive him. 

It’s so soft, so sweet, so attentive and caring that a real feeling breaks all the way through. 

He wants to cry. 

These people love him, they must, and he doesn’t have to know why or care. Even with all Trent did, all Trent said, they’re not hesitating a moment to take care of him. 

How could he have doubted them? 

Yasha stiffens further as the first tear lands on her shoulder, moves so her arms are wrapped firmly around him, one large hand right between his shoulder blades. Where her wings would emerge. A tiny detached part of him wonders if he should try that the next time she’s upset. 

The rest is doing its very best not to shake to pieces, the onslaught of love on top of everything else just too much. 

Jester’s little noise of distress is almost ear shatteringly loud in the silence, and even without seeing his face she knows what’s wrong. Why doesn’t matter; she does the only thing she can, scoots onto Yasha’s knees to press herself to him as close as she can get. Fjord hesitates only long enough to drop the towel before joining them. 

It’s a little awkward for him to reach without getting in as well, but he does his best. Caleb is surrounded on all sides by his friends, his lovers, his partners in crime, and it breaks him. 

Tears come thick and fast, and if asked even Caleb could not have said why. There are too many pieces, too many jagged bits pressing slowly back together. 

Some of them are relief. Trent is gone, he’s finally dead and gone and Caleb can never go back to him now. He can’t have him back, and he didn’t manage to kill him. 

Some are tears of rage. Anger he hadn’t even known he carries, tearing him apart inside and out. Fury with Trent, with the world, with the Empire for giving that bastard a place, with himself more than all of that. 

Some are grieving his mother. His father. For Astrid and Eodwulf. And some are for the boy he once was, the man he should have been, before Trent stole him. He’s never let him cry for that before and it wracks his whole body, drawing sobs from deep in his soul. 

Some are regret, sorrow, a roiling mass of “sorry, sorry, sorry” in his chest for being such a fuck up, such a monster, so broken. For being something not worth their time but too selfish to force them away. 

It takes him a very long time to stop crying. 

** 

They’re still in the bath when he comes back, but now the water is cold. No one’s moved away enough to refresh it. And the hug is close and tight enough to keep him warm. 

Getting out is a blur as he’s passed out to Fjord and wrapped in first the towel, then the paladin’s night shirt. Jester and Yasha are out soon after, and now the wet clothes thing kind of is Yasha’s problem. 

Mostly cuz they’re not passing Caleb back to get him wet again. 

Yasha stares Fjord dead in the eye when he points this out and reaches for her belt immediately, and it takes Jester tackling her hands to stop her stripping naked then and there. 

Once they’re upstairs, though, Yasha’s naked before the door shuts and Jester has to giggle her way through an explanation while the others stare. The tiny smile on Caleb’s lips is more than enough that no one’s going to push it. 

He still feels raw. 

Still empty, hollowed out, and thoroughly drained by his tears. 

But it’s less numb. It doesn’t ache, not twisted or tight or choking him. He just... is. Open in a way he hasn’t been since he was sixteen years old. 

Nott’s got a change of clothes for him, but he doesn’t want to change yet. He manages a new gesture when they ask; a simple shake of the head, but he knows they’re all relieved. 

Fjord settles him carefully into the middle of the nest they’ve built and Jester is scooting in before he’s finished bending. She clambers into his lap and tucks herself in close while he’s settled on Caduceus. 

She’s not tolerating being pushed to the edge again, but in the end none of them have to. They barely even need two of the mattresses stacked on the floor as the whole Nein converge around him. It’s a tangle of limbs and accidental nudging and brief bouts of swearing, and it involves a fair amount of jostling. 

It’s perfect. 


	2. Closure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They still gotta have that talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HK: I cannot believe I almost forgot this part? So time to like... add a thousand more trigger tags.   
> Mollymauk: I feel like you’re not really hitting new ground in this one that you missed before?   
> HK: Yeah, but we’re going deeper into the suicidal ideation. It’s something I’ve struggled with a lot up until very recently, so best be safe.   
> Mollymauk: That’s fair. And of course, you’ll take any excuse for a cuddle pile.   
> HK: Any under the sun! 
> 
> WARNINGS!! Caleb’s perspective and some of the messy things that go into suicide and suicidal behaviour. Ymmv 
> 
> Disclaimers: I still own nothing and no one and Trent still gotta die

The sun is actually rising by the time Fjord breaks the comfortable silence. 

“So we’re talkin’ about that fucking Firewall.” 

Caleb’s unwound into a comfortable puddle of wizard at that point, but those words slam him back to himself and his whole body tenses. Still in his lap, Jester actually growls, her grip tightening around him. No one’s actually sure who she’s growling at. 

Fjord draws his fingers away from her face anyway. 

There’s a moment of uncomfortable silence, but they all know they’re not letting it go. Beau narrows her eyes, giving the wizard an accusatory poke. 

“I saw you. You didn’t even try not to be in the middle of that.” The poke is normal, but the way she draws him into her arms immediately after, clutching him close and burying her face in his hair, is just fucking not. It’s so much more a Jester motion that it brings tears to Caleb’s eyes. 

She must have been fucking terrified. 

All of them must have. 

And here, now, wrapped in their arms and their warmth and their love, he just... doesn’t have any words to explain it. How impossible this felt, the certainty that they would be so much better off without him. 

It feels stupid now. Foolish. How could he ever... 

But he cuts off the recriminations there, because he knows exactly how. How easily he convinced himself he wouldn’t be missed. How Trent’s words, useless, worthless, treacherous, had filled his ears and his heart. 

If he wanted a pretty lie he could have said he’d thought it would keep them safe. Kill the monster, keep any of his claws from coming after them. 

But he knows how fast they’d see through him and he can’t stand to be called a liar. 

So he just nods. 

Jester’s moved just a little while Beau holds him, allowing the monk space and effectively trapping her between them. She tucks in as close as she can, arms wrapping around him tightly. 

“We can talk about this later.” There’s a hint of warning in her voice, and Caleb knows it’s not for him. It doesn’t sway Fjord’s grip on Caleb’s hip. 

“When we could do it now and get it out of the way?” And oh, fuck him? Because that is a very good point. 

Caleb would like nothing more than to never even think Trent Ikithon’s name again. To never go back to the place he went yesterday, to stay as far from that headspace as possible. 

It’s that thought that makes him pull away, both women parting instantly to make space for him without being forced to lose contact. None of them are losing contact with him at the moment, and it’s just about the best thing he’s ever felt. 

Safe. 

Home. 

Belonging. 

And... he’s not afraid they’ll leave. The realization rises in his chest like the sun, bright and warm and giving him life. They wouldn’t fucking care that he tried to kill himself if they were just going to let him go. 

It brings tears to his eyes, an almost ecstatic smiles to his lips and he _knows_ he’s worrying them. He can see it in Beau’s eyes, the quiver in Jester’s lip. The set of Yasha’s jaw. They can’t know where his mind has gone, or the sudden lightness buoying him up. 

He feels like he should be scared. Ashamed. Penitent like a sinner in a temple. But all he can feel is the love he has for these people and the love they have for him. 

Not appropriate for the conversation at hand, though, so he does his best to dull it back down. 

It seems best to start simple. 

And there go all the words again, the light dying down to a shimmering glow in his chest. 

“I thought... that it would be worth it. An acceptable sacrifice to remove him from the world.” 

Jester’s already protesting quietly, her grip tightening around him, and he has to cut her off before she can pull him close again. 

“No, no... both of us. That I was the monster he created, and it would be fitting to remove us both. I was... not thinking clearly,” he adds dryly with another, smaller smile and an apologetic shrug, “I think for the most part I would have done anything to stop him from talking to you.” 

Stopped from pulling him to her, Jester huffs and sinks down about a foot to pillow her face in his stomach. 

“Stupid,” she mutters, and his smile spreads a little. 

“Ja.” He can’t help but agree. 

Yasha’s watching him again like she can see all the hidden edges, hear all the words he didn’t know how to say. She’s probably thought much the same things a thousand times. 

“You thought?” She asks, her tone searching as her gaze searches his face. He thinks he knows the real question. 

“In the moment. I know better now.” Which is technically completely true. 

Part of him will always be Trent’s monster and he knows it, knows it the same way he knows he’ll never be redeemed. But... he also knows he’s wanted. Needed. That these people at least would not be happier without him. 

And fuck the rest of the world anyway. 

It seems Yasha can read that from his face too and she nods, nudging Beau gently to the side so she can lean down and press a soft kiss to his temple. The monk goes with barely a grumble, the pile reshifting just a little as they all settle again. 

A gentle tug draws his attention down to Jester, frowning up at him. 

“You’re not going to do it again, right?” Not going to scare us like that again. Not going to hurt yourself. Not going to give up on us. 

Caleb can’t tell how many of the words are his projections and how many she means, but it doesn’t really matter. His answer is the same regardless. 

“Not if I can help it.” And just like always, that’s enough for her. His best try, their best try, is all she asks for, and she brightens, pushing herself up for a sweet kiss. 

“Not if any of us can help it,” Caduceus corrects him, one large hand stroking the back of Caleb’s hair. It’s so easy to melt into that soothing touch. 

Sure, there are still those out there who know the sordid details of Caleb’s past. Still people who could come and tell the Nein all kinds of things he’d rather they not know. 

But they just took on Trent Motherfucking Ikithon and brought him down. Didn’t even flinch in the face of his insinuations. It’s hard to be scared of anything in this bright, shining moment. 

Even if he’ll never be able to redeem himself of his past, just for the moment he is free of it. The rest can wait til morning. 

And if he’s very lucky, maybe he’ll never have to face it. 

Beau’s still shifting, not fully satisfied with his answer. 

“You know he can’t hurt you anymore, right?” She says it quickly, almost spitting out the words to get them out of her mouth, like she resents even having to ask. There’s a layer almost like reassurance there as she nudges him entirely unsubtly to the right answer. 

It makes the smile want to creep back, still entirely inappropriately. They’re all so afraid, so worried, and there’s definitely still just a little anger, though they all know it’s misplaced. It feels almost insulting to be smiling at all. 

He just... still can’t believe he has this. That he’s allowed this. That it hasn’t all come crashing down. 

How could he ever have considered death an option? 

“I know,” he tells her quietly, wondering just how to make the words sink in. How to ease her concern. 

“It was stupid,” she mutters and pushes her face into his hair again. Because she knows she’s not being fair. But it hurts, there’s a twisted knot inside and the only emotion Beauregard Lionett is comfortable showing is still anger. 

Stifling that smile, Caleb gently strokes her hair. 

“Ja. It was.” 

“We love you, jackass,” she adds just in case he isn’t sure, punching him in the shoulder. She’s got basically no room to maneuver, no space to draw back without hitting someone else, but it still hurts. 

Yasha reaches down before either cleric can, delivering a pat of her Healing Hands just barely soft enough not to be considered another blow. 

“Don’t do it again, okay?” She tells him quietly, mismatched eyes deep and intense. “No easy way out.” 

And that’s what makes him wonder how many times she’s had the same thought. How many of the times she runs face first into battle are chasing that same end, how many wild and reckless strikes that leave her open to attack are calculated. 

Intentional. 

She sure as fuck knows the language of the darker half of his brain. It’d never let him have the easy way out. 

It helps more than all of Beau’s surly reassurances, because it comes from knowing. Offers a shield to hide behind even when things are at their worst. Even when he can’t believe he’d ever be worthy of love, he could deny himself the easy way out. 

It involves a fair bit of contortion to get his arm anywhere close so he does his best to pat at whatever part he can reach around Beau and hope it’s nowhere inappropriate. 

Yasha’s still entirely naked. 

No one’s doing anything about it. 

Twisting a little, Caleb does his best to meet all his friends’ eyes. Takes a moment to look at each and every one of them and really connect. 

Nott involves more of a twist than he’s really comfortable with, but she meets his gaze quickly and readily so he doesn’t have to hold it for long. 

“I am sorry,” he says softly, feeling with each word for where the next will land, “I did not mean to scare you.” 

Jester huffs and tightens her grip around his waist, her own body coiled around Beau and Yasha. 

“Good. We’re running low on diamonds again, I’d make you buy another one instead of more paper!” It’s the most empty threat he’s ever heard, but he gives a comical gasp because he thinks it’s what she wants to hear. 

Regrets it when she looks up immediately, stricken. 

“Not really! I’m just happy you’re okay, Caleb, I promise, I was really scared I couldn’t get to you in time!” 

Nott soothes her down with soft hands in her hair, gentle little noises, and Caleb works an arm free of the pile to gently cup her cheek again. 

“I’m sorry Jester... I know you were just teasing. I was trying to too.” 

She pushes her face into his hand and he can feel the damp of tears on her cheeks again. 

He hadn’t even thought about them bringing him back. 

The very idea drags a strained frown across his face; they’re this upset with him just trying, if he had actually succeeded? If Jester or Caduceus had used one of their spells... no, when Jester or Caduceus used a spell to bring him back. 

It’s almost funny how little his panicking self had thought things through. 

There really is no escape from this band of vagabonds, not without telling them he doesn’t want to be around them anymore. Maybe not even then; Caduceus has always known when he was lying. 

He’s never going to be able to let them go, just like they’ll never let him go. 

And if that means occasionally taking a hit from Beau, or getting tangled in awkward conversation with Fjord, or being the target of Jester’s pranks... well, that’s a price well worth paying. 

Caleb’s eyes fall to the half orc’s without him actually meaning to. 

Is this enough? Have they talked enough? Satisfied the worry that brought it up again? 

Fjord’s gaze is piercing and intense as it travels across his face, stripping him bare. Then he nods, a small smile on his own lips. 

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he tells Caleb quietly, long arms wrapping around half the group to squeeze him close. Caduceus immediately takes his queue and envelops the entire group in a bone crushing hug that leaves people protesting, squeaking, laughing. 

Once he can breathe again, Caleb twists up to press a kiss to Fjord’s lips. They’re all jumbled together again, so this time it’s easy. 

“I really did not expect to be,” he admits in a low voice, unable to meet anyones’ eyes, “but I am glad I am too. Glad I have all of you.” 

And in the wave of assurance and love that follow, the light of hope in his chest settles down and begins to gleam. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HK: And with that... I promise this one’s definitely done now and I won’t touch it anymore! ><

**Author's Note:**

> HL: okay... I think I’m ready to go catch up now. Wish me luck!


End file.
